


Dynamates

by 2xcross



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Description, Mild Gore, One Shot, TNT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22352995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2xcross/pseuds/2xcross
Summary: Bloody friendship.
Relationships: Demoman & Soldier (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Dynamates

With the intention of ‘literally’ killing time, Demoman is half-way on his route back to Soldier, who is waiting in front of an open dumpster that’s located behind the base. Knowing that his friend must be already impatient, Demo turns on with his lighter the long wick of sole unit of dynamite he is carrying on.

(They were actually requested to move that trash to a dumpster in an actual populated area, instead of keeping it to rot there, with no garbage truck to pick it up).

Once Demo is two meters away of Soldier, he yells “Catch!” to Soldier when he is already throwing the explosive. His friend picks it in the air.

“I thought you’d start drinking and forget about me.”

Demo closes the gap between them, standing at his side. “ _Ha-ha_ , very funny. Why don’t ye just hurry up and throw that thing to the dumpster,” he invites.

Soldier aims the dynamite with a grin on his face, but out of nowhere somebody yells his name from far away behind them.

“Soldier! Have ya seen my bat?!”

He lowers his arm, turning his face in direction of where Scout’s voice come from. Demo raises his brow and opens his eye wide.

“Why would I know that?!” shouts back Soldier, miffed.

“‘Cuz I know ya took it!” replies shouting as well Scout.

Demoman taps Soldier’s shoulder. “...Soldier, the—” 

“ _LIES!_ ” Next to communists, what Soldier hates the most is being blamed for things he hasn’t done. He moves his arm away from Demo. “Can’t you see I’m occupied, private?!” 

“ _What?! Oh You Bleedin’—_ ” The rest of his speech it’s unintelligible grumbling.

If he is not going to throw it away, he will make him do it. 

Demoman takes Soldier by the wrist, who is trying to walk away with the intention to go fight Scout in-situ. This stops Soldier in his track. He without doubt fights the gesture, beginning like that of a scuffle.

While Demo tries to grab the dynamite, Soldier resists by pushing Demoman’s face away with one arm and trying to free the other from Demo’s grip. Seeing no good results, with a quick reaction Demo catches—with both of his hands—the TNT. However, Soldier still withstands, not letting go of his grip and yanking and twitching his whole arm. That’s when Scout finally sees the red ‘baton’ his teammates are fighting for.

“Wait-wait. _Is that a-a freakin’ bomb?!_ ” he screeches. 

“ _YES!_ ” Demoman bellows in response to Scout. “Just let me pull out the wick you...” He resumes to sputtering curses.

For Scout, his bat is more important than whatever Soldier and Demo issues, but certainly not more important than his own health. He runs away down the same path he had came, taking cover behind a wall—he can ask for his bat again later, if they are in one piece.

_...Right. The bomb._

Soldier stops jousting all together. He let his limbs dangle.

With no more opposition, Demoman extinguishes the flame from what’s left of the wick just in time, with Soldier still holding the TNT. Demo bends down to press his knees.

“ _Oh..._ ” Soldier whispers, with a nonchalant expression despite the almost disaster. “It was still on...” His friend repeats ‘ _yes_ ’ with a deep, hoarse inflection.

Demoman straightens his back. “Just,” he pants, “throw it away anyway, just to be sure.”

Soldier turns around to the dumpster. He brings the explosive closer to his face, between himself and his friend.

“Why would I do that, when it’s already—”

* * *

“Now you can breathe by yourself!” insures Medic to Soldier, loud enough to wake up Demoman. Medic is talking about retiring a tracheal tube from Soldier’s windpipe, who had been intubated up till that moment. 

Demoman closes his eye tightly, hearing Soldier cough and gasp for air. It is possible that both Soldier and him had gone to coma before, and now that he’s woken up, he’s beginning to feel pain. Having a healing ‘weapon’ (Demo wouldn’t consider it one if wasn’t for its employment), Medic doesn’t bother in using anesthetics, nor analgesics. 

“Oh, sorry for waking you up,” apologizes Medic when he realizes what he did, with his habitual gaily tone. “I should remind you that you shouldn’t stop breathing either”—Medic deepens his voice—“Seriously, don’t stop doing that.”

Still refusing to open his eye, Demo listens to Medic walking away from a chair, making it creak when he pushes it back to stand. He raises his voice again: “Mein Gott, I hate doing that procedure. Pushing a tube down the throat? _Ugh_. I prefer just take a scalpel and...”

In the past, Medic would have stayed to berate them for their recklessness, but at this point he had given up. He also sees the positive side of them visiting the infirmary way more frequent than they should.

Demo finally looks down, taking a brief peek to his injuries, before closing his eye again, wincing. He doesn’t need to keep watching, not when he is feeling awful, paralyzing pain. Even if Demo and the rest of the mercs are more used to pain than the average population due to the nature of their job, it still hurts like hell, even when both Soldier and him are connected to the safely of a medigun over their heads. 

His curiosity is powerful enough to make Demo glance again. Bloody hell, of course he is in pain. Everything he sees is meaty pink in roughly half of his body, contrasting with his sane brown skin: burns and lacerations where the explosion hit him directly, from half his thorax to the elbow of the same side, his forearm being for the most intact. What he can see did not even count the internal damage they _had to_ have had, provoked by the explosive blast passing _through_ them. Demo knows all about that (of course: he’s an expert), and he still jump over explosives on purpose, like Soldier—doesn’t like taking them to the face though, and the pain that’s the most excruciating is the one that comes from his bloody face.

(At least his eye seems working fine... Perhaps it was not before waking up).

He is healing slowly, most likely because of the gravity of the wounds. Soldier and him are restricted to the cold hospital bed until the healing is done.

“Demo...” sighs Soldier with a hoarse voice.

Demo peeks at Soldier, who seems perfectly fine from that side (Medic placed them the other way around the explosion occurred), except for that Soldier is raising his left arm next to his face: most of his forearm is missing, his ulna and radius bones are poking out what remains of his arm. Demoman is too far away to see if the arm is growing or not, but he assumes that it is regardless. The medigun isn’t known for failing after all.

That is why it isn’t recommended to grab explosives that are about to blow up with your bare hands. Demoman is barely impressed by the gory sight.

Soldier lowers his arm. He opens his mouth, ready to attempt to talk again.

“You should’ve... ran away from me.”

Soldier is not wrong, guesses Demo. He would be safe and well right now if wasn’t for that.

He just tried to do what seemed right.

“Throw the damn thing right when I tell you next time,” answers Demoman, speaking lower than usual, every word painful to pronounce. He bets Medic was brute while doing the intubations, that or he inhaled hot smoke from the blast.

Had to be both, didn’t it? 

“I’m going to beat the crap out of Scout later.”

Demoman wants to reply something else, anything, like a mere ‘whatever,’ if that didn’t mean too much effort in his current situation, and more pain. He settles in closing his eye and hopes to be fine when he opens it again.

From behind them, Medic interferes talking loud enough to be heard: “I don’t think you need to hurt Scout! He already threw up on his own shoes, after seeing that you two blew up your faces!”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to you! yes, you! you know who you are (also thanks for reading, it is much appreciated)
> 
> sorry-not-sorry for the pun.


End file.
